


Letters From Across the Pond

by magicmumu, orphan_account



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, F/F, Pen Pals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-03-30 13:57:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3939388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicmumu/pseuds/magicmumu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy and Angie become pen pals for a school assignment</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Peggy I

**Author's Note:**

> Magicmumu, who came up with this wonderful idea, will be writing all of the Peggy scenes, and I will be writing the Angie scenes. I hope you all enjoy!

There was probably no one in the entire world that Peggy hated more than Mrs. Weatherby. She at first didn't know why, but she was sure the woman was out to get her. After all, she started glaring at her down the corridors first.  Of course the first and only time she were to scowl back she would get in trouble for it.

"Miss Carter! A word?"

Peggy winced as she faltered in her walk towards the door. It was snowing outside and she had a snowball or five to chuck at Larry Bittinger's head for the sexual remarks he made in History class. "Yes, Mrs. Weatherby?"

"Since you appear to have time to make faces at faculty, perhaps you have time to spend in detention."

"I don't, actually, but thank you for the offer," Peggy said brightly as she turned away from the woman and took a step down the hall.

"Margaret Carter." The tone was so severe, it caused Peggy to wince and stop walking. Now she knew why Mrs. Weatherby never needed to use a paddle in her classroom to keep her classmates in line. Peggy turned.

"Yes?"

"Detention. Now."

The teen sighed. "Yes, Mrs. Weatherby." She followed the woman down the hall and into the one classroom that still had students inside. She then closed the door, and Peggy remembered too late that Mrs. Weatherby was typically the warden for detention. Peggy sat in the desk the teacher pointed at, and stared forward after arranging her books before her. Behind Mrs. Weatherby on the blackboard were a list of names, one for every one of the dozen or so students stuck in detention.

"Since I seem to see way too many of you on a regular basis in here, I am beginning to think that detention isn't much of a punishment for you. I realize that perhaps a different method is necessary to ensure I don't see the lot of you in here again. Some of you," her gaze landed on Peggy now, "could benefit from the assignment I am about to give you, one way or the other. Whether it will keep you out of trouble is yet to be seen." Mrs. Weatherby walked around her desk and picked up a piece of paper there before she turned to the names on the blackboard. "I am going to pair each of you with a student from the United States to have as a pen pal. You are each required to write a letter to someone on this list and hand it in. Only when you have written your letter may you leave. Should you receive a response, bring it in to me, and I will assign each of you points towards your final score in my class."

Peggy sunk into her seat a little more. She wasn't going to like this one bit. Not only will she have to try and speak to someone she doesn't know across the Atlantic Ocean, but she will get some points in a class she already has all of her marks for. Her time was going to be completely wasted. She rolled her eyes, and ignored the look she was receiving from the teacher. As she had yet to hit her table and tell Peggy to sit up straight, she kept her posture as it was and glared at the black board. She wasn't sure why she had to tell someone she will never meet about herself, and Peggy was sure that the only reply she'd get was because they were forced to, as she was forced to write the initial letter right now.

Mrs. Weatherby made check-marks on the blackboard after she called each person's name in the room, making a note on her sheet of paper each time. Peggy heard her name, and watched the name she had put the check mark next to on the board. She continued to glare at the single name that seemed to mock her: Angela Martinelli. She looked at the clock, and seeing as she  didn't want to be sitting there for over two hours and it seemed Mrs. Weatherby wasn't going to budge in her position, began to try and compose her letter to a student in the United States. All she had to go on, when she allowed the voice of the teacher to filter through after that as she spoke about the students overseas, was the name and the knowledge that the student she was writing to was younger than she was.

 

_November 30, 1935_

_Dear Angela Martinelli,_

_To be honest with you, I do not know how to begin this letter. It appears our teachers have been pen pals for most of their lives and believe that having someone to write to will improve us somehow. I don't know if she is right._

_My name is Margaret Carter. My father likes to call me Peggy. I am starting to like it, so I think I will start going by this as well. I am not sure if you already know, but I attend St Martin-in-the-Fields High School for Girls. I am seventeen years old, and hope to join the military right after school ends. I live with my parents and my grandmother in London. I don't have any siblings, although I always wished I had a brother, if only he would teach me what my father won't. Then again, if my brother was anything like Larry, the boy who thinks he can go with any girl he wishes, I think I can be content with being an only child. I could be beating him over the head with snow right now._

_I am curious to know what school must be like for American students. Seeing the names on the board, the classes must be separated by gender, similarly to some of the private schools here. Things haven't been the same anywhere since the Depression hit, so some of the public schools are closing and doubling up in the classrooms. Some of the classes that used to be separated are now mixed. That is what happened in this school, at least for the next couple of years until the boys' school can be rebuilt. That isn't the only thing, but I won't bore you, as I am sure a lot of it is the same over there. I am just lucky I can still go to the cinema once in a blue moon. The last film I saw was called The 39th Step, which has quickly become one of my favorites. It is about spies and espionage. My dad had the book, and I read it over the holiday from school. I didn't like it as well as the film. Otherwise, I find myself engrossed in Agatha Christi's novels when they are published. Sometimes I feel like the wait is going to be the end of me._

_I apologize for being a poor pen pal so far. I hope that by the time I receive your response, I will have something of interest to tell you, that is if, for some reason, you wish to continue correspondence. Until then, I wish you a happy Christmas and a better 1936._

_Sincerely,_

_Margaret 'Peggy' Carter_

 

Even as Peggy reread her letter, she was uncertain why she spoke about The 39th Step or anything regarding her dream to be a spy. Not that she would admit that to anyone. She guessed that she just needed to fill up a little more space on the paper. Perhaps she wanted to give her recipient something to respond to. She admitted to thinking about what Angela would have to say about her letter, and whether she had some of the same likings she did. Whether she would be willing to keep writing after the initial contact and response - whether even Peggy wished to later on - was yet to be determined. Even so, Peggy found herself looking forward to the letter's response as she stood again to hand the page to Mrs. Weatherby. The teacher scanned the letter, her eyebrow raising slightly at the beginning, but a smile slowly appeared by the end of it. "Very well. You may go, Miss Carter. If you do see Mr. Bittinger this evening  I hope you refrain from lobbying snow at his head."

"Yes, Mrs. Weatherby," Peggy said again, this time glumly as she picked up her books from the desk and began walking down the hallways towards the sidewalks outside of the school. It wasn't as if Larry would still be near the campus, anyway. She would have to get him later. Her teacher never said she couldn't pick up her vendetta tomorrow....


	2. Angie I

Out of all of the students in her class, Angie was probably the most excited about having a pen pal from England. In her eyes, it was a great, romantic adventure — making friends with someone on the other side of the world, but never actually meeting in person. Ever since Mrs. Baines had told her class about the project, Angie had been bouncing on her heels waiting to hear from the English student.

It was almost three whole weeks after Mrs. Baines announced the project that the 9th graders finally received their letters. Angie drummed her fingers against her desk impatiently as she waited for her her teacher to hand her an envelope. She hoped she was pen pals with a girl. Boys had a tendency of writing a lot less, and Angie had a whole host of questions.

The moment the envelope was placed on her desk, she ripped it open and started reading. The front of the envelope was marked Margaret Carter, and Angie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from squealing out loud. She couldn’t look too eager, after all.

When she finished the letter, she grabbed a piece of stationery and started writing out her reply. In the background, Angie could hear Mrs. Baines explaining the project — the first letter was to be written in class, but afterwards they would receive their letters at home. Every month they would write a paper on what they learned from their pen pal, or what they gained from the experience of writing to someone from another country. Angie wasn’t paying a great deal of attention, but she figured she could get the details from a friend later.

  
  


_December 14th, 1935_

_Dear Peggy,_

_Hi! I’m Angie. Well, my full name is Angela Martinelli, but the only person who calls me that is my ma. She can’t stand nicknames. Let’s see, what to tell you? I’m fourteen and go to St. Catharine Academy. It’s an all girls school, too. School’s really boring. There’s a ton of rules and since it’s a Catholic school, so all of the songs we sing in choir are boring old hymns. I know it isn’t going to happen, but I keep hoping we’ll sing something a little more recent. You know, not 500 years old?_

_If you really want a brother, you can have one of mine. I’ve got five older brothers and most of them are alright, even though we fight a lot. I’m the baby of the family and their only sister, though, so they don’t go too hard on me. They taught me how to throw a punch, if that’s what you mean. Ma hates it, but Papa says I need to be able to protect myself when my brothers aren’t there._

_The depression’s been real hard over here. One of my aunts and her three kids have moved in with us, so it’s real cramped. We live in a little apartment above Papa’s shoe store, so everyone shares a room. Not a lot of people can afford to pay for new shoes, but some people still come by to get them mended._

_It’s really tough getting by some months. Especially with ten mouths in the house, although I guess it’s really just nine. Matteo, one of my brothers, is spending a lot less time at home. Ma and Papa are worried about his new friends, and the police have come by a few times asking about him. But Raphael, my oldest brother, is in the US Army, and he sends most of his pay back home, which helps a lot. I think it’s really great you want to go into the military, although I get really scared that one day we’ll go to war and something will happen to Raphael._

_Something about myself… Let’s see. I really like singing and I want to be on Broadway when I’m older. One of the ladies at church gives me voice lessons, but since we can’t pay, Ma and I make a little extra food for her. Her name’s Evelyn and she’s the greatest!_

_I can’t wait to hear back from you!_

_Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!_

_ Angie _


	3. Peggy II

Peggy wasn’t surprised when the winter holiday had come and she hadn’t gotten a reply from Angela. She was, however, happy to see an envelope on her desk upon arriving for the first history class of the new year, addressed to her from ‘Angie’ Martinelli. Peggy found herself smiling, and she placed it under her books as to not distract her from her class, but her curiosity consumed her. More than once, she wondered if Mrs. Weatherby giving her the letter now was a new form of torture. She would admit to it working. Peggy found herself staring at the handwriting on the envelope, and hoped that class time would go by quickly. On her way out, Mrs. Weatherby nodded to her, and said, “Be sure to include your home address on the envelope of your next letter. If you need any stamps, please let me know.”

Thank you,” Peggy replied.

It wasn’t until lunch time that she was able to open her letter from her penpal. The line to get her tray was longer than it usually was. She used to bring food from home for lunch, but the school lunches were a little bit cheaper. As she waited, rolling her eyes at the boys in front of her, she took the letter, which had been tucked inside her history book, and opened it up. She read it through, a small smile and then a frown appearing on her face as she took in the words and personality of her pen pal. She knew right away that she was going to respond, as Angie had given her a lot to think about. She was also interested in the older brother that was in the army, which were some of her future aspirations. She also sent out a small thought to the wind for Angie’s older brother to be alright, whatever it was he was up to. As she had eaten her lunch, she reread the letter, thinking about her response, and afterwards while waiting for her next class to start, she began another letter back.

 

_January 6, 1936_

_Dear Angie,_

_Happy New Year to you. I hope you had a good Christmas. It was a quiet evening of opening gifts and listening to A Christmas Carol on the radio. My mother went mad with the dessert. I think there were more sweets this year than ever before combined. We brought them down to the people in the small village of tents. We almost had enough to go around. I think other people had the same idea, and we sang a carol or two with the people there before it began to snow. I worry sometimes about the people in the tents this time of year. In the summer I suppose it isn’t much different than camping. They call them Hoovervilles over there, right?_

_I don’t envy you. I am glad that religion for the most part is out of this school. My family does go to church, and even those two hours can be rather long for me. I can’t imagine having to go essentially to school and church at the same time. Are there any songs in particular you would rather sing? Five brothers? My, you must be able to drop a few of your own Larry’s. I have a good arm, but I would love to be able to fight. I asked my father once and he didn’t find it proper. Then he told my mother and I got an ear full. I haven’t told my parents about wanting to join the military. It just seems as if there is little else for a woman like me to do, and I would like to serve the King and country._

_I don’t think I have ever met anyone who wished to be on Broadway. I knew a man who wanted to be in films. I can’t say what happened to him since he moved to the states, though. I see from your envelope that you are in New York, so there isn’t far for you to go. Do you have an acting or drama class at school? Do you also want to be in film? My teacher, Mrs. Weatherby said to put my home address down. In case it is hard to read, I will place it here as well. I’m looking forward to hearing from you as well._

_Sincerely,_

_Peggy_ _Carter_

 

Peggy, satisfied with the letter, placed it back into her History textbook. She was just in time for the bell, and she hurried to Maths, her mind racing of ways to get a hold of some stamps.


	4. Angie II

Angie had gotten into the habit of checking the mail every day before anyone else in her family even thought to get it. Four weeks went by and she didn't hear a thing from Peggy, and several times she found herself thinking if the English girl didn't want to be her pen pal. Eventually her family started catching on to her sulking mood, which mainly resulted in a lot of teasing from her brothers. The only comfort she got was from her father, who walked into the kitchen only to find his little girl dramatically slumped onto the kitchen table.

_"What's wrong, tesoro?"_

_"I still haven't heard back from my pen pal," Angie pouted. "What if she thought my letter was annoyin' and doesn't wanna write to me anymore?"_

"Che _assurdità," he said, ruffling her hair. "It's Christmas! She is at home with her family and does not see your letter. Patience, Angie. She will write."_

She felt a little better after her conversation with her father, but she didn't stop checking the mail every day. At school, she learned none of the other students had received their letters either, putting Angie's mind at ease.

Two weeks after returning to school, Angie learned that a few students were starting to get letters at their homes. She raced home even faster than normal, desperate to see if Peggy had written back. Only when she got home, the mail was already sitting on the kitchen counter.

"Matteo got the mail today," her mother explained. Angie shuffled through the letters, hoping to see one from England, but there was none to find.

Angie tried her best not to be too disappointed. She kissed her mother on the cheek and retreated from the kitchen towards her bedroom, figuring that she might as well go over her lines for the school play one more time.

Matteo was leaning in front of her door, efficiently blocking her way. "Hey, kid."

"What do you want?" Angie grumbled, not in any mood for his jerk-self. Deep down, she hoped that he would go back to his friend's house and leave her alone.

He grinned and pulled an envelope out of his jacket. Angie's eyes widened as she saw the writing -- definitely Peggy's -- on the front of it. "Heard you were lookin' for this."

"Give that to me!" Angie grabbed for the letter, but he was significantly taller than her and held it out of reach.

"Not so fast, sorella," he smirked. "Who's it from?"

"My pen pal from school," Angie said firmly. "If you don't give it to me, I'm tellin' Ma."

He sneered at her, but the threat seemed to work because he tossed her the letter. No one wanted to the wrath of Mariella Giada Armati, least of all her children. "Porca vacca, you'd think you're writin' some boy," he mumbled as he stalked through the hall.

Angie ignored his profanity and ran into her room, thankful that her cousins weren't there so she could have the space to herself. She flopped on the bed and started reading Peggy's letter, still grinning happily to herself at having finally received a response. Her grin just widened as she read about Peggy and her family helping out the less fortunate. "Angela," her mother called from the kitchen. "Come help me with dinner."

"Can I write back to my pen pal first?" Angie yelled back. There was a silence -- probably Mariella sighing at her daughter's excitement to write back a stranger from England -- but she agreed. Angie grabbed a piece of paper and pen from her school bag and set to writing back.

 

_January 14th, 1936_

_Dear Peggy,_

_I think it's really great that you and your family helped all those folks out. My church collected food and extra blankets to give out to people who needed them, but not a lot of people have much to spare these days. Oh, and yeah. Some people call them Hoovervilles, but my parents call them bassifondi. That's Italian for slums._

_My Christmas was really great! We went to mass in the morning, which was boring, but when we went home Ma and me made a whole bunch of food and we spent the whole day eating. Papa made new shoes for everyone, which was really big because the materials can be really expensive. My old pair were starting to wear down a lot._

_I'm jealous. Not only do I have to go to mass and a Catholic school, I have Sunday school, too._

_I think I know nearly every song that comes on the radio. Three Little Words is one of my favorites, but everything Duke Ellington does is great. My school does a couple productions every year, but they're chosen by the teachers so most of the time they're not very interesting, but we're doing the Wizard of Oz this year and I get to play Dorothy! Since it's an all-girl's school, all the guys parts are played by girls, but I still think it's going to be great. I've wanted to be on Broadway ever since I was little, but I'll be happy as long as I get to act and sing._

_I think that if you want to be in the military, you should go for it. Girls can do anything boys can. I'm sure of it because I can beat all of my brothers at poker, and they all said I wouldn't be any good since I'm a girl. Not that Ma wants any of us playing it, but still. My brothers are pretty great for the most part, although they can be idiots. I once got in a fight with Renzo, one of my brothers. He's a year older than me, but I hit him so hard he broke his nose. I felt really bad about it, but after a few days he said we were okay._

_So yeah, I say go be in the military. America and England are allies, right? As long as you don't fight against Raphael and us, I think "King and country" would be lucky to have you. Go show them that women can kick ass._

_Sincerly,_

_Angie_

 

She blushed, realizing she'd cussed on paper and Peggy would read it, but her mother was calling for her to help with dinner and crossing it out would be unsightly. She placed the paper in her bag for temporary safe-keeping and ran out to help.


	5. Peggy III

Peggy was surprised when she had come home from the doctor’s office to hear her grandmother call her into the kitchen. She looked to her father, who busied himself with removing his cap and jacket, placing it on the rack just inside the door, and then she walked to where the elderly voice had come from. “Yes?” Peggy asked. Her grandmother was sitting at the table with her knitting, and stopped only long enough to jut her chin at the envelope on the table before her. Peggy moved towards it, only to be stopped by a the clearing of the older woman’s throat. Peggy tilted her head as she looked expectantly at her.

“No greeting for your old Gran?” She asked. Peggy smiled and walked around the table in order to lean down and kissed the white hair of her grandmother. “Everything alright then?”

“The doctor says I’m fit, Gran,” Peggy replied as she hugged her grandmother. “Built strong like all the Carters,” she said.

“You got mail from the States. Who would be writing to you from New York?”

“I forgot to tell you about the assignment at school writing to a penpal in the United States,” Peggy said. She refused to disclose the fact that it was detention and not an actual class that had been where she was assigned the task of writing to Angie.

“What they like then?”

“I’ve only had the one letter so far, Gran- and this one. She seems nice. She’s younger than me, has a big family - Lots of brothers,” Peggy supplied. Her grandmother smiled at this.

“I see you’re itchin’ to get to the new one, so I won’t keep you. Just be down in an hour for supper. We’re having your favorite, chicken pie.”

“You’re the greatest.” She kissed the top of her grandmother’s head again and walked down the hallway to her room, passing her father as he sat down to listen to the news on the radio. Peggy stood to listen to the new information about the funeral and burial of King George V, and his son Edward who was to ascend the throne. She then continued into her room and shut the door softly as to not bother her mother who may have been sleeping in the next room. She went to the desk, where the small sheet of stamps were in the drawer next to the new stationary and envelopes she had purchased with the pocket money her father had given her. She stared at the picture of the late king, feeling her sadness for the loss all over again, and then she looked to the envelope and opened it carefully. She couldn’t help the smile on her face as she read her pen pal’s words, and even let out a small laugh at the cursing in the end of it. She set the paper down and began to write her own reply.

 

 

_January 26, 1936_

_Dear Angie,_

_It was very nice to receive your letter after the week that’s gone on here. Our King, George the V died earlier this week. The country is in mourning. Though saddened, I am not sure if I am mourning as I should. Often times, hearing the news of the royals is like listening to another radio drama. Reading your letter has helped cheer me up some, and for that I thank you._

_I hope the letter finds you well. Bassifondi. I will have to remember that, though when I will have need to use the Italian word for slum is beyond me. Are you fluent in Italian, or do you know a few phrases to get by? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised if you were fluent. I don’t think Martinelli is anything but Italian. Are your family recent immigrants to the United States? I am glad to read that your Christmas was good. Getting shoes are always nice, but to have them made must make them extra special, especially, as you say, materials are more expensive. I hope you got a chance to break them in a little bit and show them off when school started again._

_I agree with you that Duke Ellington is great, but I have a special place in my heart for Carroll Gibbon’s Foggy Day (In London Town). Perhaps I like it because there are so many of those these days. I also love his number, Garden in the Rain as well. Congratulations on getting the lead in The Wizard of Oz, Angie! My mother read the books to me, and I can only imagine how entertaining and beautiful a production of it would be. I hope to hear more about it in future letters. Just think, one day it is a school production, and the next thing you know it will be a distant memory as you pass by adverts of your show in fancy cars. I promise I will come all the way to New York just to point at that billboard and say ‘I was her pen pal once.’_

_I am glad that you also believe that women can do all that men can. I have had this conversation with both my mother and my grandmother, both of who think otherwise. My father worries about what is right and what is proper, but I only care about what makes one happy, as long as they are not hurting anyone else. I think he worries that people would think unkindly of me and I will fall into something unsavory later in life if I act on some of the things he knows I would do if given any opportunity. He knows now of my intention to join the military. We had many rows about it over the last week, but he gave in. He had to convince my mother that I would only be fetching materials and coffee anyway. My mother’s been in bed for the last two days since the final decision was made. We just got back from my medical exam. Everything is as it should be. Now I am to take the results to a recruitment office and then all I can do is wait. I was really sick when I was younger, so sick I couldn’t leave my bed for months. I’m their only child, and they almost lost me, so I think they are scared of becoming childless after it had taken so long to recover the first time. I don’t think I will be doing more than marching anyway, since I doubt they would allow women in the front lines. And, to answer you, I don’t think I will have reason to meet with your brother let alone fight any of his troop in arms, so we can at least be relieved there._

_Why, Miss Martinelli! Cursing in a letter? I thought you Catholic girls were above such behavior! (Here I’d say I’ll have to show them that women can kick ARSE. Don’t tell my Gran I cursed or she would have my hide as a handbag.) I never did learn many card games. My grandmother plays with the neighbor Eleanor every now and then, and I used to tell fortunes to some of the girls in my class in elementary school, but I never learned how to play poker. Now, if you ever wish to be vanquished at chess, I’m your opponent. My grandfather was the only person who has ever beaten me at chess since I learned to play, but he passed three years ago, and I have yet to find a replacement. Not that anyone can replace my Pop._

_I think by the time you receive this, it will be close to Valentine’s Day. I don’t know if you’re old enough to even have a Valentine, but if you do, I hope he treats you well, but I know now that you could bloody his nose if he turns out not to be so nice. If nothing else, I hope you have fun rehearsing for The Wizard of Oz._

_Sincerely,_

_Peggy Carter_

 

Peggy smiled as she reread both Angie’s letter and her reply to make sure she answered everything she could from her pen pal, and then she placed it in a new envelope, wrote out the addresses on the front, and placed a stamp where it was supposed to go. As she sealed it, she took her pencil and with a small shrug, drew a small flower next to Angie’s name to make the envelope a little less plain. She took Angie’s letter and went to her bed, bending so that she could grab the hat box underneath. There, she saw all of the trinkets and playing cards of her childhood, and she placed Angie’s letter right on top of the first one. Peggy contemplated rereading the first letter, but thought otherwise when her grandmother called her for supper. She brought her letter with her towards the hat rack, and made sure to let her father know that the letter needed to be dropped off on his way into work the next morning. She got barely a grunt in response, but she knew he heard her and would get the letter in the post for her.


	6. Angie III

Angie fiddled in her seat, waiting for someone to excuse her from the table. Her oldest brother, Raphael, was home temporarily on leave, and while she was thrilled to see him, the conversation had turned to politics -- something Angie was far from interested in listening to. Besides, Raphael had already promised to spend some time with her later, just the two of them, so it wasn't as if she wouldn't have the opportunity to see him later.

She kept fidgeting in her seat, hoping that one of her parents would notice and let her leave. Both, however, were far too engaged in the conversation to pay her any attention. With a dramatic sigh, she slumped onto the table.

"What's wrong?" Raphael leaned over and whispered.

"I wanna go," Angie complained quietly, not daring to interrupt her mother. "I've got something I need to write?"

"A love letter to some boy? Valentine's Day's coming up. Any boy ask you out, yet?"

"A few, but they're all jerks," Angie said with a shrug. "And why does everyone keep askin' if I've got a guy? It's for a school project. I gotta write to a pen pal."

"We're all askin' you 'cause you're such a romantic," Raphael teased her, playfully nudging her with his elbow. "Go write your friend."

"But Ma--"

Raphael motioned to their animated discussion about the president. "They aren't gonna notice. Go on, kid. I'll make an excuse for you if they ask where you went."

Angie grinned at him and darted away from the table, only briefly overhearing her mother ask where she was going. The letter had come earlier that day, but Angie had set it aside so she could visit with her brother. A few times she'd attempted to sneak off to her room to read it, but her mother always found some chore to occupy herself with, so Angie was forced to wait even longer.

She snatched the letter from where she'd left it and started reading. A few times Angie found herself distracted by the booming voice of her uncle, probably disagreeing with something one of her parents had said, but for the most part they were easy enough to ignore. She grabbed a pen and piece of paper from the nightstand next to her bed and scrawled out her response.

 

_February 6th, 1936_

_Dear Peggy,_

_I'm sorry to hear about your king. I mean, I don't really know a lot about monarchies and stuff, but I bet it's hard to lose the leader of your country. Hope you're feeling better by now._

_Both of my parents were born in Italy, so yeah, I'm fluent in Italian. My Ma came over here when she was only eight years old, but my Papa immigrated here when he was nineteen. So he remembers a lot more about Italy than she does, but my mom's more of the cliche Italian. She's the loud, opinionated one, but he's more on the quiet side._

_I know Carroll Gibbons! Well, I don't know him know him, but I know who you're talking about. I really like him, too. And thanks! We're performing really soon and I think we're almost ready, although the girl who plays the Good Witch of the North can't get her stupid lines right. Can't wait to work with actual professionals one day. When you come to New York I'll have to get you a ticket to one of my shows. Or if you come before I'm famous, we'll just have to go see something together._

_Sorry about your family not getting it. I understand what you mean. I don't know my parents exact opinions on it, but I think they don't think the world is ready for a progressive gal. Not that she isn't capable, you know, just that the world isn't gonna make it easier for her. I think they want me to get a good job, find a man, have some kids, the whole nine yards. I'm glad that your family is letting you join the military, even if they aren't happy about it. And I hope you get to do more than refilling coffees. Go out there and prove to them what girls are made of! Although I can understand where your parents are coming from. My Ma had a miscarriage a few years before I was born, and I know it still affects them a lot. Just be safe for them, okay? I can't imagine losing one of my brothers._

_My Ma would kill me if she heard me curse, so I promise not to tell your Gran if you don't mention anything to my Ma. (I think it's really great you get to talk to your grandma, by the way. I don't know any of mine)._

_You told fortunes? That's so great! You have to learn some card games before you go into the military or you're gonna get creamed by all the guys. I don't know how to play chess very well, but if we ever get to meet in real life, maybe you'll teach me?_

_I'm old enough to have a Valentine's, jeez! You're not that much older than me. I simply don't want one this year. I hope you've got some guy to treat you nice, though. Or that you at least get some chocolates._

_Happy Valentine's!_

_Angie_

 

Angie grabbed an envelope from the drawer, placing her carefully folded letter inside it before licking it closed. She heard laughter coming from the kitchen, so Angie assumed it was safe to go back out -- politics and yelling free. She placed the letter on the nightstand for safekeeping until she could get her hands on a stamp and trotted back out to see if they'd started serving dessert yet.


	7. Peggy IV

Peggy sat in the school’s library after she had eaten lunch. Her mind was still on the letter she had received the night before. Her pen pal had answered all of her questions and Peggy didn’t feel she had enough to speak with her about. She hoped walking through the shelves would inspire new topics to discuss. She was sure there were many, and she had a few things already in the back of her mind, but she wanted to make sure there was enough worth sending across the ocean. Her footsteps were light as she looked at the many books on the royal family, history books and even a book teaching the Italian language. Peggy found herself wondering, as she had a few times the night before, what it might be like to meet this Angie. The girl had a pleasant personality, and without knowing her, she had been very supportive of Peggy’s desire to go into the military. Without knowing Angie, Peggy tried to be supportive in kind, and really, she really hoped Angie lived her dream. It didn’t seem many women these days could be more than mothers and wives. She found nothing wrong with it, if that was what a girl wished to do, but she appreciated that Angie also seemed to want more from this life.

As Peggy let a finger trail along the spines of books, she thought about Angie’s brother Matteo and what he could be up to, and Raphael. She told herself to ask after the Wizard of Oz of course. “If only there was a book on this sort of thing,” she murmured to herself. Luck, or perhaps the lack there of, was on her side as she ran into Mrs. Weatherby in the corridor, and really, there wasn’t a day so far she hadn’t passed her teacher. It only increased her suspicion that the woman was after her. Peggy had learned her lesson, though, and instead of scowls, she gave reluctant smiles.

“And how is your correspondence with your pen pal? Angela was it?”

“Er- Yeah,” Peggy let out. She leaned on her right leg a little more as she fidgeted with her skirt. “I’m actually wondering if you could help me with that.”

“Do you need more stamps?”

“No, I have plenty of stationary and such, but I am stumped for what to write her. I feel everything I say will bore her.”

“Has she given you that impression?”

“Well, no. I have just… spoken about Christmas and the king and I am not sure I should bore her with things like that.”

“Are they important to you?” Mrs. Weatherby asked a moment later.

“Well, they are the things around me, the things in my life.”

“But are they important to you, dear?”

“Not entirely,” Peggy admitted.

When no other words came after this, Mrs. Weatherby smiled. Peggy was almost taken aback by how genuine the smile was coming from this woman who seemed to watch her like a vulture in the desert. “I think, because you don’t know her, it is difficult to tell what you have in common, however it is hard to know those things if you don’t ask questions. How many letters have you exchanged so far two?”

“Three now,” Peggy said. This earned another smile.

“There isn’t really much to know about her - or for her to know about you even - in this stage of your correspondence. Just talk about what is important to you.” Peggy didn’t say anything as she tried to think of the things that were important to her. She had spoken lightly on some things already, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to speak any more about her grandfather, who seemed to be the only one that understood her. Mrs. Weatherby touched Peggy’s arm. “Sometimes I don’t have much as far as interesting or exciting news to tell Edna so I would send her a poem I read or a trinket found if I can post a package to her. Sometimes I send her sketches. She seems to appreciate them all the same. I think we had gotten to a place in our friendship that I think I could write merely ‘I’m still alive’ in calligraphy and she would be content with it.”

Peggy smiled at the image of this, unsure if she would write only that to Angie ever. She then looked up at her teacher. “Have you met Mrs. Baines? I mean in person?”

“We couldn’t much at first, but we have taken turns going on holiday to see each other over the years.” Mrs. Weatherby considered Peggy. “Is everything alright, Miss Carter?”

“Yes, everything is fine. Thanks for the advice. I’ve got to get to class now.”

Mrs. Weatherby nodded and watched as Peggy walked at a quickened pace.

**  
**  


_February 19, 1936_

_Dear Angie,_

_Thank you for your condolences about the king. I am feeling better these days. As I said, I wasn’t as sad as I probably should have been, so my grieving period was brief. How did your parents meet? My parents were in school together. My father was in the Great War, and then when he came back, they resumed their courtship as if the war and their separation had never happened. I don’t think my mother ever wrote to him or he her. You ever see a couple that seem so unfit for eachother, but there are moments where you wonder why you ever questioned them? That is what my parents are like. They hardly seem to agree on many things, and yet they remain a united front. It was interesting to watch growing up. But it is always the little things that people would have to really pay attention to to know that they really love each other. Or when my grandparents would bicker constantly but would never leave each other’s side if they could help it. How come you don’t know any of your grandparents? Have they already passed? I have never met my father’s parents, either. They passed when my father was a teenager. One of the first Zeppelin raids in the Great War hit their village. It was what made my father fight in the war to start._

_I have been rereading your letters, and I see that you have mentioned three of the five of your brothers. What are the other two like? You also wrote that you and your mother cook together? Is there a meal you like to cook above all others? It is usually my Gran and my mother who cooks. I can cook, thanks to them. Well, I think I can bake better, all sorts of pies, but I really don’t like to. I don’t find it more than a necessity. Were I better off, I would eat in restaurants every day just so I wouldn’t have to make anything more than my tea._

_Well, if your performance is coming up soon I really hope  your Good Witch memorizes her lines! Hopefully you can improvise your lines just in case. Will you have performed The Wizard of Oz by the time you have received this letter? If so, I hope it went well, and if not yet, then break a leg. Is there a play or production you wish to do in your acting career? I meant to ask you this in my last letter, but I had forgotten in the excitement of reading about your production of the Wizard of Oz to begin with, but do you dance as well? I hear most places now don’t want anyone who can’t sing dance and act all at once. Sounds really exhausting, if you ask me, but I can imagine it shows just how much talent and dedication one has to theater. I can’t do any of them. Well, I hadn’t actually thought of us meeting up in the world outside of these letters, but I suppose it would be a shame if I were to go all the way to the states and not meet up with you. I had thought in my head while writing the last letter that you would be too famous at that point in your career to meet up, and I would just have to be content with seeing your billboard._

_I am about to tell you another secret, since you won’t tattle on me for swearing and trust has now been built between us. If anyone outside of my home ever found out, I am sure I would be laughed at for it. I think I trust you with it because it can’t be much different from acting on a stage, so here it is, my secret: Sometimes I pretend I am undercover as my other self, my spy alter ego I have named Ruth Barton, but that doesn’t last long. I tend to break my cover quite quickly, especially around my family. It doesn’t help that Ruth doesn’t have much as far as a plot or a life story to work with. I just like the idea of her, of wearing glasses and sneaking around as a school teacher or nurse to get into restricted areas. I probably daydream about it far too much, but it helps time go by. To be honest, I love hearing stories about spies in wars and their roles in the rise and fall of royalty, whether they are real people or not. I love good mysteries as well. My! Speaking of a good mystery, I read in the newspaper that Agatha Christie has a new novel that will be on sale in July. I can’t help but fidget in anticipation. They even released the title! Murder in Mesopotamia. It feels like I am still anticipating Christmas._

_I will make a deal with you, Angie Martinelli. I will teach you to play chess if you teach me Italian when or if ever we meet. Or you may have to help my technique for poker because you are absolutely right that I will need to beat the men. The thought of the dumbfounded faces as I win time and again makes me just as happy as the new Agatha Christie novel, honestly. Of course  I am not there to shake your hand to seal it, but we will have to make due with these letters serving as a sort of contract on their own. What say you?_

_I meant no offense. Fourteen isn’t much younger than me, no, but I think that the expectations for those in our ages are quite different, especially between our countries. Seventeen is the year of aging into adulthood here (and this is mainly why I am allowed to join the military with or without my parents’ permission). I am not sure what it is over there, but some places it is eighteen or even sixteen. I never had a sweetheart at fourteen. Not even an interest. Larry tries, but I have seen his way of getting a girl’s attention and I would never be interested. He tried to give me a flower, but I don’t think he realized that I saw him try to hand that same flower to Stacy Jones. Boys. I hope you can imagine me (or which image of me you may hold in your head) rolling my eyes and shaking my head, as that is all I can ever do at the thought of the opposite sex. There are some decent boys around, maybe even enough to consider  if I hadn’t known them since near birth and can tell embarrassing stories of just about all of them. Knowing that Arthur Ryan used to eat snails and slugs from the ground as children makes it hard to imagine kissing him, don’t you think? My face has just gone pale at the thought!_

_To think, earlier today I couldn’t find much to write to you about, but now I find myself with things to save for a later date. I don’t want to, but I must admit that maybe our teachers were right in giving us this assignment. Or at least, Mrs. Weatherby was right. I was in detention when we were given the assignment as a way to I suppose rehabilitate us into civilized St. Martin society again. Did your teacher tell you that when you were given me as a pen pal? I would guess not. I do not recall telling you this in my first letter, and your letters have always held a friendly tone to them from the start. If I had known ahead of time that my pen pal was writing from detention, I don’t think I would have been friendly to you. I would wonder what kind of delinquent my teacher had me writing to. And before you feel a need to ask, though I had wanted to throw snowballs at Larry’s head, I never did. I was held in detention for scowling at Mrs. Weatherby. I didn’t like how much she would just watch me all the time as I walked through the corridors. I don’t do anything wrong in her class. I arrive on time and leave quietly, which is a teacher’s dream if you ask me. I am not sure why she watches me so. She is even worse now that I have started correspondence with you, but I don’t mind it so much now, since she is a bit helpful when it comes to knowing what to put down in these letters. She told me she sketches pictures to your teacher. I am curious to know what she draws for her. Can you imagine? Drawing is actually one of the skills I do have. If ever I am at loss for words, I hope you do not mind if I send a sketch or two of my own to keep in touch._

_I find myself thinking a lot about your brothers. I often worry for Matteo and Raphael. I hope they are alright. And you, of course. I hope this letter finds you well._

_Sincerely,_

_Peggy Carter_

 

Peggy reread her letter over a couple of times, hoping she hadn’t made any spelling or grammatical errors. She could see a couple of them, but she had, and she winced at each one, but she let it stay on the page. She hoped some of her teasing voice came out upon the page. Without a universal symbol or punctuation indicating irony or sarcasm, she hoped that some of her teasing had come out on the page, and would not appear to Angie as anything but. Peggy wrote out the addresses, placing another flower next to Angie’s name, and a stamp on the front as before. Then she placed it for her father to find.

 


	8. Angie IV

"How many ducks are there?" Angie's little cousin, Tommy, asked as if it were a perfectly normal question.

"A lot," Angie told him, wishing that her aunt or her mother would come distract him. She was sitting at the kitchen table working on her letter for Peggy, but  Tommy was bothering her with all sorts of random questions.

He scrunched up his nose, unsatisfied with the answer. "What's a lot?"

"I don't know." Tommy continued to stare at her, waiting for a better answer. "A lot, alright? There's as many ducks as people."

"Really?" He asked, wide-eyed.

Angie had no idea how many ducks there were, but he was going forget the conversation, anyways. She nodded impatiently, expecting him to run off and go find his little brother or mother, but Tommy crawled up onto the chair next to her.

"What do you want?" she groaned. It was unfair, she thought, that she needed to babysit him while her mother and aunt were somewhere in the house.

"Whachya doin'?"

"I'm writin' my pen-pal," Angie explained.

Tommy nodded stupidly, but Angie knew he didn't understand what she'd just told him. He grabbed one of the pieces of paper and tried to take Angie's pen. "I wanna draw."

"Well you can't use this," she snapped. She didn't mean to make him cry, she was just tired and really wanted to finish her letter.

Tommy immediately started wailing, attracting the attention of Angie's mother. Mariella picked up the screaming child and set him down on her lap. "Angela, get tua cugino a pencil," she ordered.

For a brief moment, Angie considered arguing, but a stern glare from her mother reminded her why that would be a very bad idea. With an undignified grunt, Angie stood up grabbed a pencil from the desk in the other room. Tommy had stopped crying and reached for it greedily.

"Grazie," her mother said in such a way that made Angie think she wasn't really grateful. "Was that so difficult?"

"Scusa," Angie grumbled, failing to feel any sense of guilt.

"What is it that distracted you from helping your family?" Mariella asked. Sitting in her lap, Tommy was happily doodling, having already forgot Angie's overly harsh tone from earlier.

"Writing my pen-pal, I'm almost done. I just want to finish," Angie explained, hoping that she could be given a moment's worth of peace.

Angie's mother glanced over at her daughter's scrawled penmanship, wondering how the English girl she was writing could possibly understand what was being said on the paper. When Angie was little, her teachers made her practice her writing longer than all of the other children just to make it legible. Her excited nature caused her to write out her thoughts a bit too quickly, making the bubbly letters so swirly that it took a trained eye to make out the words.

"What are you writing to her about?"

"I'm tellin' her a little bit about the family," Angie said. "She wants to go in the army, like Raphael."

"How does her family feel about that?" Mariella remembered how nervous she'd felt when her oldest son enlisted, despite his reassurances. It still frightened her to think that he might be sent to the front lines one day, but she could not deny how beneficial it was whenever he sent home a portion of his paycheck.

"Well, she's their only kid, so they're not really happy with it."

Their only daughter, Mariella thought. She could hardly blame the girl's parents if they refused to allow her to enlist. "I imagine not."

Angie set down her pencil and looked up at her mother. "Would you let me enlist? If I wanted?"

"Perché non farlo?" Mariella gasped. "Nonsense."

"I'm just sayin', if I wanted to. Would you let me?"

"I will not see you in harm's way," Mariella said sternly. Angela was not just her only daughter, but her youngest, as well. "Now finish your letter to the girl."

Angie was dissatisfied with her mother's response, but dropped the subject so she could finish writing. It wasn't as if she wanted to go into the military, anyways, she just wanted to know how her parents would react. She finished the last few sentences and read it over again, making sure everything made sense.

 

 

_March 2nd, 1936_

_Dear Peggy,_

_I think your parents have a really cute story. Not a lot of people fall in love with someone they grew up with, it's kind of romantic, don't you think? My parent's story isn't that interesting. My Papa happened to move to the same neighborhood Ma was living in, and got a job working for her uncle. They got married real quick and had Raphael. Papa left behind his whole family when he came to America, which is why I don't know his parents. Both of Ma's parents died before I was two, so even though I met them, I don't remember anything about who they were. It's okay, though. I've got more cousins and aunts and uncles than I can count!_

_My brothers are Raphael, Aurelio, Emilio, Matteo, and Renzo. Aurelio and Emilio are nineteen and seventeen and they both still live at home, although I think Aurelio's going to move out pretty soon. He's got this girl he's really sweet on and I think they're going to get married soon. It'll won't be anything special since we can't afford much, but I don't think either of them will care. Emilio is finishing school this year. He didn't want to, but Ma and Papa wouldn't let him quit. They say he'll appreciate it once the economy picks back up._

_How do you not like cooking!? I mean, don't get me wrong, restaurants are fancy and all, but I like a home cooked meal better. Ma's been teaching me how to cook since I was little, and my favorite thing to make is cacciatore, probably because it tastes so good once it's made._

_Our last performance was three days ago. Everyone said it was really good, and I think they were right. Well, the first few times were rough, but it got a lot better at the end. The Good Witch only forgot her lines once, but I was able to cover it and I don't think anyone noticed. I wanna be in this new musical called Anything Goes, where a young guy falls in love with an heiress named Hope Harcourt. That's the role I want. Of course I can dance! Got to if I ever want to get on Broadway. Do you know how to dance? I mean, I guess you don't want to go into theater, but still. I think everyone should know how to dance._

_Your secret is safe with me. I still pretend to be someone else all the time, although I have more than just one persona. My family all knows about it, though, and just call it a dramatic flare. You really need to give Ruth a backstory, that'll make it easier to play her. Everyone has a story, even if they aren't real, you just got to come up with one. Like, what if she was raised in South Africa and when she was little, her parents died in front of her? And the killer went back to England and she had to chase him there, and she swore she wouldn't rest until he was caught. Something like that?_

_I guess you're right about the age thing. Eighteen is an adult here, but a lot of kids seem more grown up than they should be. I think it's hard to stay young when everyone's going through such a tough time. Although I guess a lot of the boys I know are really immature. I'm glad I don't have to go to school with any of them. The only person I've ever had a crush on didn't like me back, or at least I don't think so. I never told them about it. All of the boys near you sound pretty awful. He really ate snails? That's so gross! Maybe you'll meet a cute guy in the military, though. One who doesn't put gross slimy creatures in his mouth..._

_You're doing this because of detention? Ms. Baines didn't say anything about that, but I guess it doesn't really matter. As long as you're okay with writing to me, which you are, right? I don't want to annoy you or anything and I bet I could get a new pen pal if I asked, although that would be real sad. I like writing to you. If you decide to keep being my pen-pal, I really hope you send me a sketch of something. I can't draw at all._

_If you ever come to America, you better come visit me. I don't care if I'm famous or a nobody, I think it would be great to meet you in person! I'll teach you Italian and you can beat me at chess. And we'll make sure that you can beat anyone at poker, except me. Don't think I'll go easy on you just because you're a beginner, too. Us Martinellis are a competitive people, especially at card games._

_Sincerely,_

_Angie_

 

She shoved the letter in its envelope and wrote Peggy's address on the front of it, but before she could seal it closed, Tommy handed her his drawing and motioned towards the envelope. "Send it!" he ordered.

It was a drawing of a bird -- at least Angie thought it was a bird -- and completely irrelevant to anything in the letter, but Angie didn't have the heart to turn him down, or incur the wrath of her mother should she deny his request. Besides, Peggy might find it entertaining. She took her letter out of the envelope and added a quick note to the bottom.

 

  
_P.S. This is a drawing from my little cousin, Tommy. I think it's supposed to be a bird or something? He wanted me to send it to you._


	9. Peggy V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, between finals and then vacations.. My fault this took so long to update! But it's here now

Peggy wouldn’t consider herself really the worrying type, let alone the sort of girl who paced and wrung her hands. It had been over a month and a half since she last heard from Angie, something that, at the start, wasn’t something she would really care about. She hoped her last letter hadn’t offended her after all. Had the news of her being in detention put her off from writing back? She wouldn’t have blamed her if Peggy were honest with herself. No, in Angie’s previous letter, she had stated that it didn’t matter. Still, she found her thoughts going to her pen pal through those weeks, wondering if Angie had been the first to get bored with the correspondence. She had considered writing another letter, but if Angie were bored with her, what would be the use of that? And if Angie had stopped writing first, why was Peggy so disappointed? After all, she had been so reluctant at first to write to the American girl. She had been hesitant to share much of herself with her. Peggy waited for her father to return, hoping he had a letter with him, just as she had the past week. Though she hadn’t said as much, her father must have known anyway, because he would give her the stack of statements and catalogues so that she could find out for herself that there was nothing from New York. Peggy sighed and decided to give up.

As Peggy entered her room, she went to the hat box under the bed, taking the previous letters from Angie Martinelli out. She wondered why the lack of a response stung as much as it did. She supposed it was because the talk of meeting up someday and teaching each other chess and Italian and who knew what else was seeming more and more like a possibility, perhaps something that could occur after serving some time in the military or even on a holiday like their teachers did. She daydreamed more than once of saving up the stipend from the military until she had enough for a voyage to the states and maybe meeting the large family of Angie’s and get a tour around her neighborhood.

Peggy stared at the letters -  and the drawing from the Martinelli household. She reread the last letter, seeing the insecurity of their budding friendship on the page. Peggy had told her new friend that she enjoyed being her pen pal and hoped that she had eased her fears. She stared at the drawing Angie’s cousin had given her and she smiled. The first time she had seen it, she wondered if any sketch of Angie’s would look similar, and she wondered how old the artist of the drawing was. She sighed again, heavy and sad. She hoped it wasn’t the end of things, really. It was too short. There was more she had wanted to know. Peggy wasn’t the type to make friends easily. Being sick made it hard for her to connect with children once she had been able to go outside and play again, and by that point she would have rather stayed inside with her grandfather anyway. Since his death, Peggy had many acquaintances, girls in her class she would speak to during school hours, but no one she could truly confide in. In fact, Angie was the first person outside of her parents she felt she could talk to. She was the closest thing Peggy had to a friend in a long time. She had even said as much in her letter, and maybe this was why the silence made Peggy overthink it all.

Just as Peggy had decided she would give it another week and then send another letter (and should Angie still not reply a month after that to just appreciate the short lived correspondence), there was a knock on her bedroom door. It was the quick, loud knock on her door that made her think the bobbies were after her. She knew it was her father. Her grandmother’s knock was also loud but always three slow raps to the door, whereas her mother’s knock was so low that were there any other noise in the house she would have missed it entirely each time. “Yes?”

The door opened slowly, and her father entered the room. His movement was slow and deliberate, but it was the tall man’s face that held Peggy’s immediate attention. “Er…” her father said as he took two steps further into the room. He closed the door behind him, but not completely, and then he stood right next to the desk where Peggy sat. Peggy’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, wondering if she should worry for whatever it was that had her normally subdued father looking so… Was that guilt she saw there? Peggy wasn’t sure she ever saw the man before her seem so meek as he glanced at her. Only one other time had his head hung as low as it was right then and that was when her father had to explain to her that her Pop was losing his memory and soon may not know her at all. “Peg, I must apologize to you,” he began.

“Dad?” Peggy asked. She watched as her father lifted his hand, a familiar envelope with a small flower and Angie’s name on it in plain view now. “Oh,” she said when she recognized her letter, meant to go out to the United States more than six weeks ago.

“I’m sorry, Peggy. I know how important it was for me to get this in the post for you. I placed it inside my breast pocket there and… forgot about it. I just found it now as I was looking for my identification card. Is your friend angry with you?”

“I don’t know. I assume so,” Peggy said. She felt really badly now. All this time she had thought it was Angie’s choice to stop the letters, but it was a mistake on her end, and now the girl probably thought her suspicion about Peggy not wanting to be pen pals had been true. She cursed in her head.

“I will take it in tomorrow, I promise,” her father said. Peggy had been caught up in her thoughts of the other girl that she almost didn’t hear him.

“Yes, but I think I should write her something to explain what happened and put it in another envelope first.” She took the letter when her father handed it to her and she stared at it.

“I really am sorry. I’ll take you to the cinema when my next pay arrives to make it up to you.” Peggy smiled weakly. She knew he meant it. After all, what would her father have to gain by not sending the letter in the post? It was an honest mistake.

“It isn’t me that needs sucking up to, but thanks.”

“Are you upset with me?” he asked.

“No.” Peggy said honestly. She just hoped Angie wouldn’t be upset with her.

As if to read her thoughts, her father said, “I’ll let you at it then, and tomorrow I will make sure it goes in the post.”

Peggy nodded and watched her father leave the room after he squeezed her shoulder, but in her mind she told herself she would get it into the post herself, just to make sure at least on her end it got to Angie this time. When her father was gone, she bit her lip and stared at the envelope. She turned it over and opened it, placing her own drawings aside and took out a new sheet of paper to write on.

 

 

_May 1, 1936_

_Dear Angie,_

_I sincerely apologize for the lateness of this letter. My father had placed my last one in his pocket and had then forgotten about it. He just now found it and now I fear what you must think. I know you weren’t sure whether I wanted to be your penpal and then this letter shows up what will have to be more than two months late and for that I am sorry. I need you to know that, as my original letter stated, that I DO wish to remain your pen pal, that I DO want to meet you someday like our teachers, and that I now consider you a friend. I think my original letter says it best, and so I will resend it. This time the letter will stay on my person until I can get it in the post myself. Again I am so sorry, Angie. I understand if you are angry with me and no longer wish to write to me, but I sincerely hope you do._

_Guilt Ridden,_

_Peggy Carter_

_PS, Belatedly, I wish you a Happy Easter._

 

Peggy looked over her previous letter and, finding it satisfactory, added it to the envelope with her sketches.

 

 

_March 19, 1936_

_Dear Angie,_

_I think your parent’s story is romantic too. And your brother’s romance as well. How people fall in love is interesting. Some couples are so strange together but at the same time it just seems to work out. As long as the love is there, I think couples could make it through just about anything but death. It makes me wonder sometimes what the story of my future love would be. It would probably be, as you say, something that begins either in the military or with someone with a military background, I suspect. And I don’t think the boys around here are THAT bad, but they’re just that: Boys. How do you imagine your future love would be? Your crush was stupid for not liking you back, by the way. That boy is going to be kicking himself when he finds out he turned down a world famous actress, just you wait and see. Or at least, that would be the case had you told him. I can understand if you were scared to tell him though. I am sorry you don’t get to see your grandparents in Italy. Maybe the economies everywhere could change and you would get the chance to see them someday. So what is the grand total in your family? I can count on both hands how many people are in my family now. My mother’s got a sister who is married without children. She’s an artist and lives alone up north so we don’t see her unless it is Christmas. We didn’t see her this past year because the snow was hard to move through, where she was._

_You know, I think I take back what I said in my first letter. I don’t think I want any brothers after all. I am glad to be an only child, no matter how lonely it gets sometimes. I am selfish enough that I don’t want to share my room with a sibling I don’t even think I would want a sister, because knowing my luck she would turn out to be my opposite in every way and I would always get fussed at for not being like her. At least, that is how I always imagined having a sister might be like. It sounds like you are getting a sister in law. Are you excited? And you might even be an aunt in a couple of years. I can feel your judgement of me all the way across the Atlantic Ocean! I am uncertain just why I don’t enjoy cooking. It seems like a lot of time and work for a half hour’s enjoyment. It doesn’t seem worth the effort to me. Perhaps if I were to cook for my family and put all of my love into it I might like it more, but that implies I don’t love my grandmother, mom and dad. I would rather you think I am merely a lethargic teenager._

_I am so happy to read that your performances for The Wizard of Oz went well, and that there was only the one slip up from your Witch. How many performances were there? I was under the impression that there would only be the one, but knowing your love for theater, I am glad to read that you got to perform more than that. Oh, to have been there to see one of my favorite childhood stories come to life, and someone I know as the lead. I hope you get to do any and every role you wish for. What was it that pulled your heart into theater? Your back story for Ruth seems better than anything I could have come up with. At least, not without  a lot more thought. I will keep thinking about it. Perhaps you could go into writing fiction, that is, if being in musicals isn’t too taxing on your time already. If you can come up with characters and plots quickly, you might be able to give Agatha Christie a run for her money._

_I am glad you don’t think I am some sort of ruffian who runs around the neighborhood like a stray tom cat, or even if you did you don’t mind it. Mrs. Weatherby is no longer my least favorite teacher, which is a good thing since she teaches my favorite subject. I hope I haven’t given the impression in recent letters that I do not enjoy our correspondence. I like writing to you, and I don’t wish for you to find another pen pal. It is true that I was unsure about this assignment, but I no longer think of our letters as such. You already promised to teach me Italian and poker in exchange for chess lessons and I expect for you to honor your commitment! Besides, I refuse to go to the United States for anyone other than the famous (or not yet famous but never a nobody) Angie Martinelli, so I’m afraid you are stuck with me for a while yet. In all seriousness, you do not annoy me. I like reading about things that are important to you, and I enjoy learning more about you and your family. Though I am not sure if we would be pen pals as long as our teachers have been, I do hope we remain in contact for quite some time._

_It is strange, but I feel I can already consider you a sort of friend, if you will allow it. This is kind of new to me. I don’t make friends easily. Remember when I wrote that I was sick as a child? It was hard to get back to playing with children my age, especially when my Pop was there with me almost the whole time I had been bedridden. He would read to me and he had taught me to play chess. He told me stories of his youth and stories about my mum as a child. He would tell me about the Great War from his side of the country. My Pop became my best friend, and when I couldn’t seem to connect with other children after my illness, he remained my confidant. To be honest with you, I don’t think I felt the need to associate with other children because I felt my grandfather was all I wanted. I know my mother wished I would bring a friend over now and again, and I did (and do) have people to talk to in the classroom, but no one outside of it. My grandfather’s memory started to go rapidly near the end of his life. I was almost fourteen when he forgot who I was. His mind was still sharp when it came to chess in the last few months, but the blankness of his eyes when he saw me broke my heart every day. That last fortnight was the first time I became Ruth Barton, but she wasn’t a nurse or teacher then. She was just a girl down the road who liked to play chess and it was just her luck that my grandfather did, too. It hurt less when he didn’t know Ruth than the not knowing his granddaughter Margaret, you see. When Pop died, I think I became cold. Not unfriendly, as my parents raised me better than that and my grandfather wouldn’t have wanted that of me, but distant. If I hadn’t felt the need for friendship before, I avoided it after he died. I think, like cooking, I didn’t find friendship to be worth the effort so I stayed away from it all, so much so that just now as I write this I’ve realized you are the closest I have had to a friend in a long time. I tell you this not so you can pity me, rather as proof that I enjoy your letters and already I do confide in you. I will continue to do so if you let me, and of course I hope you will confide in me just as much._

_Thank you for reading these ramblings, and I supposed I have to thank Mrs. Weatherby for placing us together as pen pals in the first place._

_Sincerely,_

_Peggy Carter_

_PS. Enclosed is a picture for your cousin, an early drawing of a bird. Not my best, but I don’t think he would mind. Please thank Tommy for his drawing on my behalf. (How old is he, by the way?) For you, I’ve enclosed a sketch I had done last year of my Pop. I worried my memory of him was fading and tried to get his laugh onto a page so that I would have it should I too start to forget. All I had then were stern pictures of him. I’ve since discovered that my memory is sharp, and I will always remember him, so I feel I can pass this to you. I will send you a fresh drawing in future letters._

__  
  


Peggy placed all of the pages into an envelope, now fattened with pages of her long letter and the drawings. She hoped the length of this letter will ease the silence on her end and the hurt and anger Angie must be feeling. Peggy wanted her sincerity to show that she did want to be Angie’s friend, and she realized not for the first time that she needed this, needed someone like Angie in her life. Peggy placed a flower next to Angie’s name. She had come to enjoy doing this and likened it in her mind to her pen pal’s logo. She then put her final stamps from her sheet onto it. As she placed it on top of her school book she hoped once more to get a reply, but she knew she would have to accept it if it turned out she never would.

  
  



	10. Angie V

The very first time Angie heard the word "ennui" was when she was waiting for Peggy's letter. An entire month had passed and she was starting to think Peggy didn't want to talk to her anymore, despite everything. Her school productions were over and the only thing left to focus on was academics -- not something Angie was interested in.

She was sitting on a stool in her father's shop, idly playing with a scrap piece of leather. Her father was organizing in the back, and to gain his attention, Angie would occasionally sigh dramatically and flop against the counter. Angie slipped during one of the attempts and ended up on the floor, letting out a yelp as her knee collided with the table leg.

"You alright, tesoro?" Her father asked, not bothering to step out of the back room. Her family was accustomed to her clumsiness and she rarely gained their sympathy anymore when she stumbled in through the front door with a bruise or cut.

Angie pouted at her injury. It hurt, but no more so than the burn she'd inflicted upon herself that morning when cooking eggs. What was truly bothering her was that Peggy still hadn't responded, despite having sent her letter out over a month ago.

"No," she shouted back, trying to sound pathetic enough for him to come to the rescue, or at least stop working for a moment. Grumbling something about his children's inability to take care of themselves, Angie's father walked into the front room.

"You look good to me," he said. Angie smiled back up at him weakly and motioned to her knee.

"It hurts."

"You need to be more careful, Angie," he sighed, picking the stool back up and offering her a hand. "Why don't you help me clean?"

Angie groaned and shook her head. "I can't."

"Why not?" Her father smirked as she sunk back onto the floor and threw a hand over her eyes.

"Because everything is pointless," Angie exclaimed.

"Everything?"

"Everything!"

Angie's father laughed and pulled her to her feet. "You suffer from ennui, no?"

"What's ennui?" Angie asked. "I've never heard of it."

"Ah, it's a lack of spirit," he explained, handing her a broom. "The best way to fix it is doing something productive."

"Papa," she started to protest, but her father interrupted her train of thought.

"Sooner we are done, sooner we eat," he reminded her. "Now tell me, what's wrong?"

Angie glowered at him and started lazily sweeping the floor. "Y'know my pen pal, Peggy? It's been over a month and she still hasn't sent me a letter back."

"Didn't we already talk about this?" her father chuckled. "I am sure she will write."

"But what if she doesn't?"

"She will, give it time."

Her case of ennui continued for another two weeks when Peggy's letter finally arrived. Angie almost bowled over her mother as she snatched the letter and ran over to the kitchen table to tear open the envelope. It had been nearly two months and she wanted to see what had kept Peggy from responding for so long.

Angie couldn't help but laugh when she read the first note. Truth be told, she was amazed her parents had remembered to mail all of her letters. The beginning of the second letter made her slightly uncomfortable, and she ducked her head to make sure none of her family members could see the light blush. Crushes could only be towards boys, she needed to remember that. Still, she made the conscious decision to not respond to that part of the letter.

There was no need to tell Peggy, or anyone else, that her crush had been on a girl. It wasn't even a crush, it was a stupid infatuation. A one time mistake.

Angie tried to count how many family member she had, but kept getting confused over who was a first cousin and who was a second or third cousin. At a certain point she stopped keeping track of how she was related to everyone.

Angie continued to drum her fingers against the table as she wondered how to answer Peggy's question. How she imagined her future love was most definitely not what she was supposed to envision, but she decided she could keep to the basics. Didn't matter if it was a girl or boy, Angie figured everyone wanted someone who was smart and funny.

 

 

_May 8th, 1936_

_Dear Peggy,_

_I was getting so worried you didn't want to talk to me anymore! It's okay, though, I understand. My family's not all that organized._

_I don't really know what sort of person I want to be with in the future. I mean, I want them to be smart and have a good sense of humor. Good looking wouldn't be too bad, you know? I know it's not that important, but still. Oh! I want someone who likes the arts, because I can't imagine being with someone who hates me singing._

_I don't think we'll ever see Papa's parents, but I know he has some siblings in Italy still. Only one of his brothers came over to America, but Papa says some of my cousins there want to move here. As for how many cousins I have in general, I don't know. My family's really, really big. I've got at least fifty first cousins, and I don't even know how many are in Italy. Ma had a big family, though, and we know a lot of them. We're always going over to someone's house for dinner or they're coming over to ours. I don't think it's bad you don't want a big family, though. I wouldn't give up my family for the world, but I also grew up used to it. Suddenly getting one would probably be overwhelming._

_You definitely take after your aunt. You're really good at drawing! It doesn't matter that you can't cook if you can draw like that. It's a much more impressive skill. I can tell you love your family, especially with that sketch of your grandpa. It's so, so good._

_Wizard of Oz lasted for a weekend, so there were four performances total. It was really fun, but now that's it's over I'm really bored. I know school's important, but it's really boring and I can't wait for summer. It's just right around the corner. And I'm really not much of a writer. I've just read enough stories and musicals and stuff._

_It makes me really happy to know you think of us as friends. I do, too. My teacher hasn't told me a ton about her letters, but I plan on writing to you for a while. I guess when you're in the military you won't have a ton of time to write me, but I still expect you to write as much as you can. Tell me when you find the one, since we both know he's going to be in the military with you somewhere._

_I think your Pop sounds really sweet, I'm sorry he's not around anymore. Well, at least not in person. Papa always says the dead stay with us, even if we can't see them, so we have to do our best to make them proud. We don't want them to be disappointed in us when we meet them again. I'm sure it's hard that he couldn't remember who you were, but I'm sure you were his best friend, too, and that he still loved you. Even if he forgot at times. I don't pity you for not having friends, and I'm honored to be yours._

_Before I forget, when are you going into the military? I don't know how it works over in England and I bet it's different than America. Do you think you'll get stationed abroad? I know that doesn't happen as often during peace, but I still think it would be exciting to live in another country for a while, don't you? I don't think I could leave New York for that long, but it would still be fun to do for a bit._

_Next time double check with your father and make sure he sends it. I don't think I can wait that long again. I'm kind of kidding._

_Oh! Tommy's four. I'll give him your drawing when he comes home, but I'm positive he'll love it._

_Your friend,_

_ Angie _


	11. Peggy VI

Writing to Angie became easier after that. Peggy liked keeping in mind that she was writing to a friend now, not a stranger over the Atlantic that was forced to write to her. Angie's letters made some of the harder times a lot better, and when she made into the military and basic training, she always looked forward to reading what her friend had to say. Peggy's letters weren't always the most interesting over the following three years, as she had entered into a pretty rigid routine and nothing really wavered from it, but now and then her duties and training shifted so she was doing something new, and she would tell Angie what little she could about it. However, now Peggy's insides went cold when her superior officer was finished speaking. She had heard the news over the past few days and people in her squad had talked about the possibility of England entering the war, but she hadn't thought it would have been so soon. There was a civilian evacuation in London three days prior, and that meant her parents and grandmother as well. England wasn't the only country to declare war on Germany, which meant they were entering into another great war. Peggy barely heard her superior officer tell her that she had two hours to pack her things and prepare herself and her squad to relocate. To where, she wasn't sure yet, but she knew she would be told when the time was right. She numbly walked to her bunk, where Gina Farnsworth, her bunk mate needed only one glance at her.

"Off to war, then?" she asked.

"Yes," Peggy said. There was a fury of movement in the room, and there was a barrage of questions, most of which she couldn't answer, either because the answer were classified or because Peggy herself didn't know the answers to them. "We've got two hours. Pack your things, girls. Write to anyone who may need to know what is happening." She said this as an afterthought, as she had planned to write to her parents, whether or not they would get the letter, and of course to Angie. She didn't want to worry her friend but there was no other way to let her know that she would no longer be at this address without telling her why. Peggy packed her bag first, leaving out only her stationary, before she wrote her letters.

 

 

_August 31, 1939_

_Dear Angie_

_I apologize for this letter being short. It isn't the only one I need to get out. The events of the last few days have been hectic in our country. By the time you read this, you might have already found out. Angie, England has entered the war against Germany. I wanted you to know since I will no longer be at this address. I don't know where I will be stationed, but know that I will write to you whenever I can. I wish I had time to write more, but I am to be packing and helping my girls._

_Your friend,_

_Peggy Carter_

  
  


Peggy hurriedly addressed and stamped the envelope before she wrote a similar letter, addressed mostly to her father who would take the news better than the women left at home. She hoped that her family will have evacuated before this got to London, but she also hoped that her family knew that so far, she was safe. If something happened and she didn't know where they were...  A thought occurred to Peggy and she added to the bottom of her father's letter.

 

_PS. If something should happen to me, please send a letter to my friend Angie, who would otherwise have no way of knowing. I will leave her address below._

__  
  


Peggy put the letter in the envelope, collected the letters of some of the other girls who were also writing to loved ones and hurried to the post box so that they could go out once they had left. She didn't like that her letter would no doubt worry her friend, as one of Angie's biggest concerns was that war would happen. When Peggy entered the army she knew that the possibility of war would always be there. It was the British military, after all, but she hadn't expected for a second war as great as the one her own father had fought in to become her war. She hoped more than anything that the United States stayed out of this war so that Angie needn't worry about her oldest brother. Peggy let her mind go numb from there as she concentrated on the other girls in her squad. Then she went back to make sure the rest of the girls were packing, and hurried to ease the fears of the others. She had no time to be afraid herself.

 

 


	12. Angie VI

For the third time that week, Angie read Peggy's letter over once again, trying to reassure herself that everything would be alright. Nearly a month had passed since Peggy's last letter arrived in the mail, confirming Angie's suspicions that she was being deployed. It was difficult not being able to write to Peggy and ask what was going on, but without having an address, Angie was forced to sit on her hands and wait.

"If you ask me, what he's doing is important," Angie overheard one of the other girls asserting loudly. "They say he isn't mistreating anyone, just putting the world back on the path of salvation."

Angie had discovered early into the year how many member of her own church held Nazi sympathizes, each to varying degrees. She had even heard her own uncle express support of Hitler's new segregation policies in Germany, _"They crucified Christ! He is treating them kinder than they deserve."_ Halfway into the discussion, Angie's parents asked her to go down to the shop and make sure everything was locked. It was a flimsy excuse to leave, but Angie was thankful for it nonetheless. She went to great lengths to avoid talking about politics, but seemed impossible to avoid following Hitler's invasion of Poland.

"What do you think, Angie?" Her friend Ethel asked, dragging Angie into the conversation she dreaded. "You still have family in Italy, right?"

"Yeah, but we don't really talk with them," Angie mumbled. She stared down at her hands, hoping that if she refused to make eye contact she would be forgotten. An unusual tactic for someone who was accustomed to being the center of attention.

"It's only a matter of time until Italy joins the war," another girl shrugged. "Once they do, the other European countries will come around."

Angie took some comfort in the fact some of the other girls looked equally uncomfortable at the discussion's topic. It was difficult to imagine a country as strong as Britain submitting to Germany. Angie wondered what Peggy thought of the war and Hitler. Angie didn't know a great deal about politics or what was going on in Europe, but she knew she wouldn't forgive Hitler if something happened to Peggy.

Or Raphael. Some people thought the United States might join the war, although President Roosevelt promised to keep Americans out of it.

"We really need to finish setting up the stage," Angie reminded her friends. The youngest children in the congregation were putting on a play for the rest of the church, and Angie had been quick to volunteer to help. It never occurred to her that she might regret offering to do so.

Angie's thoughts kept drifting to the war in Europe, despite her best efforts not to. She was born after the Great War, but she knew had desolate it had left people, and she didn't want anyone to have to go through that again.

 _"Please let it be over soon,"_ Angie prayed. _"Keep Peggy safe and don't let us get caught up in the war."_

Angie wanted Peggy to write to her soon, even if it was just a quick note to let her know she was still alive. An address she could send something to. Anything would have been comforting, but then again, Peggy was probably the one in need of comfort. Even if she wasn't on the front lines, it had to be horrible being at war.

A horrible thought struck Angie. If something were to happen to Peggy, she wouldn't know. Angie had the Carter's address, of course, but what could she send to them?

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Carter, I'm not sure if your daughter is still alive, so I thought I would write to you and ask if she is. Please let me know as soon as possible._

Not that she wouldn't of course. If months more went by without hearing anything, she would try to establish contact with Peggy's parents and see if they knew anything else, much more kindly written, of course. Angie just prayed it wouldn't come to that. If something did happen to Peggy, Angie didn't want to make their grieving any worse. She just didn't think she could live her life not knowing what happened to Peggy.

 

"Do you think the podium needs to be a little further back?" Ethel asked casually, completely oblivious of Angie's serious expression, for which Angie was thankful of. ‍‍

  
"Depends on how many kids are gonna be up in front." Angie allowed herself to get distracted by the  preparations for children's play. There wasn't anything she could do, Angie reminded herself once more. 


End file.
